


Our Whole Lives Before Us

by rikyl



Category: Anne with an E (TV)
Genre: F/M, Post-Finale, Season 3, follow-up questions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-28
Updated: 2019-11-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:35:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21596974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rikyl/pseuds/rikyl
Summary: "It's wonderful to think we're young and have our whole lives before us—together—isn't it?"—Anne in a letter to Gilbert,Anne of Windy PoplarsAnne and Gilbert's first letters to each other—or rather, their first letters to be read by their intended.
Relationships: Gilbert Blythe & Anne Shirley
Comments: 14
Kudos: 139





	Our Whole Lives Before Us

Dear Gilbert,

I look like my mother … What a strange way to begin a letter, you must be thinking. But just moments after you left, Marilla and Matthew arrived, carrying the most precious treasure I could imagine, if I had ever dared hope to imagine such a thing—a long lost book that belonged to my parents. It is called, perfectly, “The Language of Flowers.” Isn’t that just the perfect title? Doesn’t it make you want to open the book and turn every page and hear what the flowers might tell us? When you do open it, before the flowers have a chance to speak, my father does. The inscription reads, “For my Bertha, So you can share your love of the natural world with your pupils. Love always, Walter.” Gilbert, my mother was a teacher! Now I know that it is not just what I desire to be, but what I am fated to be. And on the very last page, my father drew a portrait of her, with hair even brighter than mine, and I was struck to my core by her beauty. Which is the oddest thing, because I used to hate my red hair so much and wish every day it could be a lustrous black or a shimmery blonde. (You probably remember the time I tried to change it and ended up with hardly any hair at all. I was so silly and childish then.) Now that I know it’s something I share with my mother, I wouldn’t change it for all the lovely locks in the world.

This might not be the letter you were expecting to receive from me after today’s other momentous events. Or maybe you know me well enough by now to know how I tend to babble when I’m happy, and today I feel as if I am almost bursting with happiness. My parents, Marilla and Matthew, Diana, and you … and you and you and you. You were the first person I wanted to tell about the book. I do wish I could show it to you. Someday we will sit next to each other again and I will.

My, but today has been a whirlwind! A confusing but joyful whirlwind. I know I said I have follow-up questions, but I don’t even know which ones to ask. Diana told me you somehow never received my note, and that answers a lot. I left it on your dining table. When you never responded, I thought … well, it doesn’t matter any more what I thought, and when I tell you what happened to your letter, honestly it might just serve me right. I feel terrible admitting this, but I ripped it up in a fit of pique, assuming the worst. Then in a panic, I tried to piece it back together in case it wasn’t the worst, but the story I pieced together was impossibly mangled, hopelessly reinforcing all of my greatest fears. If I hadn’t run into Winifred … oh, yes, I should tell you that I ran into Winifred after arriving in Charlottetown. I tried to congratulate her, even though the thought that she had won your heart pained me so, I resolved not to be bitter. After a bewildering exchange, for her as well, she confessed to me the truth of what had transpired, for which I must admire her greatly. She was obviously hurt but still so very kind, and I could see why you liked her, and I feel so terrible to have any part in causing her pain, even while being so relieved that you didn’t end up loving her. As for that … I can’t fathom why not, but perhaps on some matters, it is best not to ask too many questions.

When you found me on the doorstep today, I had my suitcase packed, ready to jump on a train to Avonlea to find you. As it turns out, I wouldn’t have found you there after all because you had already left. So tell me about the University of Toronto! All I know or feel at the moment is that it is too far away, and we have clearly been too distant of late even when we were geographically nearby. May all of our words from now on reach their intended destination, because I long to know simply everything.

Yours most truly,

Anne

\-----

Dear Anne,

I am so glad to hear of your good fortune to find out something of your origins, a topic I know has been weighing on your mind. Your mother sounds lovely, but then, I have found myself partial to studious, fiery redheads—well, one in particular—for quite some time. I wish you could show me, but your impassioned description makes me feel as if I’m in the same room as you, sharing it. If only!

Part of me wishes that I was at Queens with you, but I know that the University of Toronto is where I need to be to learn the most advanced medical science Canada has to offer. Just browsing the course syllabus, I feel invigorated with hope for the profession. You might know that I was only just able to secure a last-minute admission with a recommendation from a friend of Ms. Stacy’s. I feel I have you to thank for that as well, since the procession of potato lights you orchestrated several years back ensured Ms. Stacy was able to stay on in Avonlea. I have no idea where I would be now if she had been driven from town, and so I have no idea where I would be without you. You, Anne, have a hand in all my dreams.

I understand why you ripped up my last letter, but in return, I’m not sure I’m going to tell you what was in it, and not just to be contrary. You see, when I wrote it, I thought I might never see you again and I unburdened my soul with all the desperate urgency that entailed. But now we have time—perhaps a whole future to unfold before us—and some things may be better said in person where the words can’t be so readily misplaced. In light of recent events, I think you might guess some of the contents anyway, as I have hopefully surmised some of yours. Who knew so much could be communicated so eloquently and so sweetly without words? Maybe we should have tried to correspond that way much sooner.

I know I should have tried something sooner. I was so convinced after our train ride to Charlottetown last year that you didn’t care for me at all, and even when you comforted me about Mary, I rationalized that you were just that caring of a person. That night at the ruins, I remember how alive you looked, how your hair flowed free in the firelight, how you listened to me like a true friend. But I can’t for the life of me recall any of the specific words you said or how they added up to such a resounding rejection to my ears. Afterward I made up my mind to try to live without you, but as much as I tried, everywhere I turned I saw reminders, as if you had touched every rock and leaf and seashell in Avonlea … and most of all me. I have little left of my own mother except for her ring. It’s modest—I’m not sure if the green stone is real or a piece of colored glass, but it was hers. When I looked at it, all I could see was the color of your one dress, the one that looks so well with your blazing head of hair, and I knew in my gut it would be wrong to see it on anyone else's hand.

My dear Anne-girl, are you really mine, “most truly”? Just as you pinched yourself, I blinked when I saw those words in your handwriting, unsure I could have read them correctly. Have I ever been so glad to be so wrong? My burning questions now are how, when, why, and what did I do to deserve this waking dream except for wanting it so much and for so long. But I would be happy to receive those answers in the same eloquent form as the one you recently rendered, when next we meet again.

For now, your faithful penmanship is all I ask and I know the rest can wait. But as we both well know how uncertain life can be, how situations can become misconstrued, how a chance can be so nearly missed, I will share at least this in closing. You have

All my love,

Gilbert

PS: That’s not nearly everything, but I need to get to class! And I know you would never hold me back from that.

PPS: You looked stunning when I saw you last, but I will miss your two long braids and the barely resistible temptation to tug on one.


End file.
